


Single-Minded

by TheMadKatter13



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Thor, Canon Universe, Handcuffed Loki, Handcuffs, Insanity, Isolation, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Muzzles, Not Thor: The Dark World Compliant, Post-Avengers (2012), Prisoner Loki, Top Loki, muzzled Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadKatter13/pseuds/TheMadKatter13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A descent into darkness and insanity is easy when one is left alone for as long as Loki was and his broken mind can now only focus on the one thing he’s always wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Single-Minded

**Author's Note:**

> Loki looks delicious in that muzzle.

Perhaps the most dangerous thing about putting Loki away as they had was they did not shut down his mind. For the God of Mischief, his mind was his most dangerous tool, and his closest ally, and though his hands and his tongue were restricted, left alone in the darkness, his mind plotted and festered. At least, in the beginning.

It plotted against his ‘father’, the one who had raised him under a lie; it plotted against his older ‘brother’, the one whom he had always looked up to and had wanted nothing more than to receive praise and acknowledgement; it plotted against the Midgardians that had capture him and forced him to return to Asgard to be imprisoned until, very likely, the end of time; it plotted on how he could escape and when. And when it didn't plot, it festered.

It festered on the thoughts of the love he had always wanted to receive from his ‘family’, of his failures as a brother, his failures as a son, his failure as a mutineer. It festered on thoughts of his escape, the how-tos and then whens. But it festered most on his ‘brother’. On Thor. Admired older brother and beloved eldest son. The favoured son. The one who would inherit the throne that Loki always wanted. The one Thor always knew he’d inherit and then fell short of when their father yanked the rug from under his feet and subsequently banished him. The brother that, despite all his envy and jealousy, he loved _him_ as much as he hated _him_ , that he hated to love and loved to hate. It festered on the taboo thoughts that his plagued his mind since he was old enough to understand them. It festered on the attraction and love he held for his brother that was more than platonic, that was more than one should have for a family member. It mattered not that they weren't blood-related, but they were raised as such.

In the soundproof, dimly self-lit room, time passed slowly. There was nothing to measure it by other than the own decay of his mind. As his mind plotted and festered and pondered and fantasized, bit by bit it fractured until finally, it broke. And still, no one came. No one visited. Not his father, not his mother, not his brother. The other two he couldn't quite care about, but after all of his brother’s continued declarations of love and care, his lack of appearance just served to put more cracks in the now-irreparable psyche. And in the semi-darkness of the lonely room, Loki conjured hallucinations. He couldn't conjure copies like he used to with his hands and his tongue bound so but he could imagine. Close his eyes and pretend. And pretend he did. There wasn't any way for him to keep track of how many time he dissolved into nasty fantasies all centred around him dominating his older brother. No counter for how many times he had been grateful his hands were bound in front so he could pull his aching erection from his trousers and pump and pull in twist until he was screaming behind the muzzle he hated so, screaming inside his mind for the one he both loved and hated more than any creature in the nine realms. If the room hadn't been magic, the walls would be covered with his countless releases so often did he turn to his taboo fantasies so the physical pleasures could take his mind away from his loneliness for just a while.

In that room, he forgot the creeping feel of frost along his skin when the ice of his anger slipped beyond his control as in the darkness, the cold in his chest was all he could feel. And when he sometimes glimpsed his skin in the dim lighting, he couldn’t even be sure if it was tricks of his eyes that caused the blue tint, so uncaring he hadn’t realized his vision was tinted the red of his change. In that room, his mind, once his greatest tool and ally was now so worn down it was his worst enemy, no longer able to even suggest any form or attempt of escape. In that room, he had resigned himself to his fate, wishing that his body would just waste away, hating his immortality for the first time in his long, long, long life.

He screamed in pain behind the muzzle when bright light pierced eyes so used to the dark and he stumbled backwards into the corner, turning his head from the source of his pain and pressing his forehead to the smooth wall.

“Loki?” His head jerked at the sound that was breaching his ears with more finite clarity and deeper baritone than his fantasies usually conjured. He shook his head, trying to dispel the odd echo in his ears as the light faded back to the darkness he was used to. “Loki!” Without warning, he was enveloped in a warmth he hadn’t felt for countless years, the face of his most favoured and beloved hallucination filling his eyesight. It was a clearer hallucination than he could usually force his mind to create, covered in a lot more clothes than he was used to, with the strange appearance of a gold circlet upon his head. Warmth pressed along both sides of his head and blue eyes disappeared behind lowered tan lids as the face before him shot forward, soft lips pressing against his forehead. Loki closed his eyes, basking in the unusual heat permeating his skin, warming his insides, and the delicate gestures being placed upon his skin. It was not often his fantasies indulged him with an affectionate lover, though he often imagined _him_ to be so, worshipping Loki’s whole body with tongue and fingers alike before displaying _himself_ for the taking.

“Loki, brother...” that voice whispered again, kisses raining all over the exposed skin of his face. “So long... I have searched for you for so long.” The arms around him tightened and logic tried to surface, telling him how much more real this fantasy felt. But the lone piece was miniscule amongst the wreckage of his mind and the larger pieces made up of his doubts and insecurities and fears soon overtook that small piece, drowning it once more.

As much as Loki was enjoying the affectionate gestures, they were making him impatient. As much as he had always enjoyed affection from this person, it felt like much too long since his last release and he just wanted to be buried once more in that heat that only the hallucination of his one true desire could provide. He turned quickly, pressing the other’s back into the wall, pressing his own body against it. _His_ body has always been bigger, more muscular, a true son of Asgard, and Loki took exceptional delight in the fact that it was all his.

“Brother?” Ah yes. Good. _He_ was playing innocent today. That was fine. Maybe more than fine. That was one of Loki’s favourites. He pressed his nose into the thick neck, breathing in the unusually strong scent of thunder and masculinity, closing his eyes against the soft blonde hair brushing his face, letting the scruff of the closely trimmed beard scratch his cheek. His erection pressed against a hard stomach and his hips undulated, creating a delicious friction that had his skin tingling. His hands rose in tandem, the chain between them a hassle he had long ago learned how to work around and he busied his fingers in pushing the armor covering the tan chest away. The thick arms were bare as they should be in the safety of home and were one less thing to strip. The silver clattered to the ground, muffled only slightly by the thick red cape, the sleeveless shirt underneath following shortly after.

He kept his hips pressed forward into the other growing erection, leaning his head back to examine the torso in front of him, eyes tracing every dip and crevice of each hard-earned muscle. He remembered watching his brother train when they were children, trying so desperately and failing so miserably to keep up with _him_ and the others, glaring and plotting when the older children made fun of him, smiling and forgiving when his brother stood up for him. He let his fingers follow his eyes down the hard chest, reached for the buckle holding the pants up, nearly ripping the leather from the fabric in his haste. He pulled his hips back long enough to shove the rough material down rock-hard thighs, the thick erection they previously held back springing forth to bounce in the air. It was in these moments Loki wished he had use of his mouth most.

His fingers grasped the thick pole, giving it a few strokes and letting the warmth sink into his palm as his thumb rubbed precome around the tip. His other hand, stretched as far as it could go with his restraints, tugged harshly at the exposed nipples, immediately smoothing right back over them with a gentle thumb. A low moan sounded from the unnaturally quiet throat.

“ _Loki..._ ” He closed his eyes again, letting the sound roll through his ears and absorbing it, pulling the sound straight from his brain to his heart. It was his favourite sound and he treasured every one the illusion made, holding them deep inside along the ones made by the real version. He slowly released the erection in his hands, his mind diverting to how different this would play out had he had use of his mouth, how many times he would make _him_ _scream_ his name before the night was out, lifted his precome-covered thumb to his nose, inhaling the musk. Oh how badly he wanted to lick his thumb this instant. Instead, he placed his other palm flat on the the golden skin, marveling at the colour difference before sliding it up, up over the battle-hardened pectorals, up the thick column of the vulnerable neck, and onto the scruffy cheek. His fingers traced the finer details of the face he could spend days on end just looking at before he slid three fingers between plump pink lips.

The smooth muscle within already knew what to do, sliding up and down and around each of his fingers, making love to his fingers until they were as wet as the palace pools and slowly, regretfully, he pulled them away, taking no time to move his wet fingers down to the awaiting entrance behind thick thighs, sliding in the first finger without preamble. Rough fingers gripped his shoulders through his clothes, fluctuating the deeper in he pressed. He tried to find what he was looking for but was seemingly at the wrong angle to find and eagerly pressed in another finger before the ring of muscles was sufficiently loosened, the fingers at his shoulders tightening in protest but no sound being made, not even panting. His brother, always the strong, silent type.

His fingers scissored, working to loosen the muscle to minimize the pain that he loved and hated to cause, striving for--

“Loki!” _That_. His own erection twitched behind his trousers as his smooth fingertips gently massaged what he had found, all the while continuing the loosening until finally he slid in a third finger, the fingers at his shoulders tightening painfully for a short moment before loosening again as he pressed just that little bit harder. He had barely slid in the third finger before he was ripping them out, ignoring the whimper of protest that made him smirk as he forcefully turned the other around, pressing his bare chest to the cool wall. There was a moment of resistance, biceps flexing as the god before him attempted to press away from the wall. He centered his palm between the two easily defined shoulder blades and shoved hard, enjoying the slightly pained cry that it prompted. He pressed his hips forward, grinding his still-clothed cock along the exposed backside before pulling back, quickly shoving his trousers down only enough to free his erection.

The tip brushed up against the quivering entrance and lifted his arms and the chain connecting them over and around the blonde hair in front of him to wrap around the firm chest, running his fingers over the muscles he loved as he slowly slid in, delighting in the ways they clenched in rippled the further in he was. At last he was fully seated and he had to take a moment to breathe through his nose, the body in front of him panting. The heat surrounding him, his quickened heart, his lack of breath, the feel of skin against his hands, the arse pressed tightly to his pelvis, everything felt so much more real than it ever had to the point that he felt like crying. But he didn’t cry, he only leaned back to watch his hips pull back before snapping forward, entranced by the sight of his girth disappearing into that tight arse, watching it disappear time and time again, occupying his fingers with erect nipples.

The air was filled with the delicious sound of the others’ pants, hands pressed tight to the walls, blunt nails scratching uselessly along the surface as the fingers curled and uncurled with each one of Loki’s presses to that spot inside him. He pulled his arms and the chain back over the head to place a hand on each shoulder, pressing the male against the wall towards the floor, bending his own knees to keep the connection until they were both kneeling on the floor. He pressed as far forward as he could, sandwiching the larger, warmer body between the coolness of the wall and his own body, using the stability to thrust even harder, driving into the warmth that pulled him in and protested when he pulled back.

Sweat had blossomed on both of their skins, making the slide of skin along skin easier, the slapping sound of the collide getting louder and louder in the quiet of the room. He angled his hips, knowing right where that spot should be and the loud cry that broke the other’s silence was received with a sneering of lips behind the muzzle and the narrowing of eyes as he thrust harder and harder, quickening his pace. Now the usually-silent other couldn’t seem to contain his pants and near-cries of pleasure and Loki, feeling the tell-tale tingles shooting to the base of his spine, wrapped his arms back around the front dropping both hands to the erection bouncing against the wall. He grasped the thick shaft firmly, his other hand tracing the smooth skin of the soft globes hanging below as he pumped in time with his thrusts, the heaving torso against his chest jerking at the sensation.

Blonde hair flew as _his_ head dropped back, eyes closed, mouth open, little pants escaping as _he_ tried and failed to grasp something, anything. Moans dripped from _his_ lips every other breath like lewd little presents and as Loki started stroking the girth in his hand, faster and faster, egging on the orgasm he knew was approaching. His other hand grasped the tan hip, pressing so hard that it would leave a bruise, just the way _he_ liked it, if it had been real.

“Loki...ha-ah-Loki! Loki Loki Loki LokiLokiLokiLoki,” plump lips murmured as if in prayer. He dropped his forward to the sweaty shoulder, breathing so hard through his nose that his lungs were screaming for air and his head swam. His hips and his hand were blurs as he pumped and thrust, that tingle like a whisper building to a scream against his spine as his balls tightened painfully as a strange crunching sound built against his ears.

“Loki, I’m....Brooootheeeer... Loki!” came the cry of release, wetness spreading across his pale skin as the hole around him tightened incredibly and his eyesight turned to white as he came. He had never in his life had a better orgasm and even as he wondered why today was different, his body, draped across a tan back that usually disappeared after orgasm, refused to calm, his breathing painful and his heart more wild than a raging stampede of Bilgesnipe. As blackness swam across his vision, something cool, metal, circular, pressed against his forehead and his eyes rolled back into his head as the blackness took over his vision and his mind and his limp body fell back upon the cool floor.

* * *

Trembling tan thighs tightened as the knees below them straightened, hands trembling just as bad pulling his trousers back up around his waist and belting them back in place before similarly pulling on his vest and armor, pocketing the sleep-spell coin he had remembered was in his pocket. When he was safely dressed, Thor scrubbed his hands over his face and into his hair. He had guessed that there may have been some side effects to his brother having been kept away for so long but what had just happened was not close to anything he had prepared himself for.

Once again he cursed their father for refusing to tell him of Loki’s location, even as he lay on a deathbed they all knew he would not be coming back from. Jane had been dead so long he had problems remembering her face unless by portrait, and still, Loki was the only thing on his mind. As his father remained bedbound, Thor took over control of the kingdom, but still spent every possible moment scouring the grounds for Loki’s whereabouts. Nothing. Finally, their father dies, refusing to tell his eldest of his youngest even with his last breath, and Thor is crowned true king, moving into his father’s rooms as was tradition. Imagine his surprise when his father’s bed slid to the side, exposing a staircase that led down, down, down into a small room with a door. And behind that door the thunder god found his most beloved brother past the brink of a mental breakdown, the crazed look in his eye a match to none. Old feelings, taboo feelings, feelings that had been growing larger and larger the longer apart they were separated, roared up inside him and he ran to the one he loved more than any other, pressing relieved kisses to his skin, not expecting anything in return from the broken doll before him.

So to have that broken doll turn around and do to him what he had done was so unexpected it was making his head spin even now. Evident by the still-shaking fingers that gingerly tucked away his brother’s softened manhood before pressing his finger to a spot on the cuffs that his magic would deactivate, the metal falling away to expose the soft wrists. Crouching next to the splayed limbs, he gently pulled the unconscious form into a sitting position against his chest, fingers sorting through the soft dark hair for the same button on the muzzle. The muzzle fell away a moment later and Thor crushed it in his fist immediately, throwing the crumpled metal into the corner even as he pressed his lips to the new exposed ones.

He required no reaction from the other, nor tongue, he merely held the gentle gesture to comfort his own insecurities, further reassurance that this wasn’t just another dream, that he was finally here with him again. When he pulled back, he gathered the slimmer body in his arms and retreated to the corner most opposite the door, crossing his legs and propping Loki in his lap and against his chest.

Others would likely come looking for them, his mother, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, but he would remain right here in this tiny room until Loki awoke, and after that, he might even stay secluded until he had repaired his already-fragile mind. Loki had already spent centuries there, what was a few decades to an immortal like him? Even more, what better person for him to do it for than the one he loved the most?

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Like the thing? [Reblog](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/tagged/Single-Minded) the thing. Like my things in general? Check out [my tumblr](http://themadkatter13fanfiction.tumblr.com/Commissions) for more things.


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